He did not know how long he had been fighting.
When Orion awoke from the pain and the phantoms, he found himself standing amidst an endless field of bones, his eyes filled with a profound and weary confusion.
In the space of that brief moment, the bones dissolved, fading into the nothingness of his mind. When all the illusions and agony had receded, he looked around the boundless sea of his consciousness and found that he was utterly alone. The ocean of faith energy that had once shimmered here was gone, vanished without a trace.
"Did I succeed?" he whispered, raising a hand to observe his own form.
The sight made him freeze. The hand, the arm before him—it was not his own. The fingers were like talons, the palm as broad as a shield, the arm as thick as a stone pillar. This was a hand that could tear the world asunder.
His gaze traveled up to muscles that bulged like hills, to veins that coiled like great serpents, to skin the color of dark copper, etched with shifting, esoteric runes. This was a body built for absolute, explosive power.
Focusing his will, he took in the entirety of his new body of faith. It stood eighty-five feet tall, a colossus with a waist as thick as an ancient tree. It had four heads and eight arms.
It was a form that radiated raw power, wildness, and an ancient, brutal mystery. As Orion beheld his new self, only one thought came to mind.
This... is the body of a Titan God.
His attention was drawn to the four heads. Each bore his own features, yet each was distinct. Two of the heads had the sharp tusks and pointed ears of his primal ancestry. The other two, while lacking those features, were covered in the familiar, strange runes of the more mystical giant clans.
"The four branches..." he realized after a moment of contemplation. The four heads represented the great clans of the giants: Stoneheart, Ironbone, Starveil, and Shadowabyss. The eight arms were bare, holding no weapons.
"A four-headed, eight-armed titan god..." he murmured. "This is my body of faith."
He clenched his new hands, and the feeling of holding the world within his grasp surged through him. It was the intoxicating pride that comes with newfound, immense power, the illusion of command over life, death, and the very rules of existence.
"I truly succeeded."
On the shore of the Spring of Life, the great serpent Tusha had opened its eyes long ago. It stared unblinking at the pool where Orion had vanished. The Spring’s power had shielded Orion from its senses, but Tusha was patient.
The boy has succeeded, it thought, feeling the subtle but distinct shift in the aura of the contract that bound them. An Archlord as a follower. Good. Very good.
Though it could not perceive the process, the result was undeniable.
"Old man," the serpent hissed to its silent captive. "I will be taking this will-projection of yours now, and I won’t be polite about it. This world, starting with this third of the Spring of Life... it is all mine! All mine! Ha ha heh heh heh..."
Its evil laughter echoed through the strange, silent space. Valthor’s light remained dim, his projection silent, perhaps mourning for himself, or for the natives of the Emerald Dream Realm.
Gurgle... gurgle...
Suddenly, the waters of the Spring began to bubble. It was the sign that Orion was about to emerge.
"Is there truly no future for the Emerald Dream Realm?" Valthor’s voice sounded one last time, and his form blazed with a final, desperate surge of light. He was preparing for his last stand.
"Hahaha, Orion! You have finally ascended!" the serpent boomed as Orion’s form broke the surface of the water. "Good! Excellent! Now, join with me, and we shall slaughter this old fool’s will-projection!"
The darkness roiled, clashing with Valthor’s light. Both demigods knew the final moment had come.
But Orion did not move. He stood, his gaze fixed upon the great evil serpent.
"Tusha," he said, his voice calm, yet resonating with a new, profound power. It was the serpent’s true name, a secret he had learned from their pact. "Do you know how much I truly loathe you?"
The serpent stilled.
"’Little giant,’ ’insignificant,’ ’inferior,’ ’low-grade’... no one has ever dared to mock me so to my face. Today, upon my ascension to the rank of Archlord, I will christen my new power in your blood. I have yet to personally slay the will-projection of a demigod."
Orion’s voice trembled slightly, not with fear, but with the thrill of extreme excitement and absolute confidence.
"Valthor," he said, his voice now a clear command. "Hold him for me. And watch how I kill him."
Orion took a single step forward. His eighty-five-foot-tall body of faith shimmered into existence, enveloping his true form within its chest like a heart. This was the Asura Titan Form, a manifestation of his will.
In the primary right hand of the four-headed colossus, a brilliant flash of light coalesced—the Commander’s blade, no longer a passive ward, but a weapon he could now consciously wield.
"Now, you two," Orion’s voice boomed from the chest of the Titan, a chilling politeness in his tone. "You may find your oblivion."
The smile on the Titan’s face twisted into a snarl as it strode through the air. On the surface, his target was the serpent. In truth, Valthor was a target as well. As the two demigods were locked in their eternal struggle, the Asura Titan drew near, and the blade in its hand blazed with impossible light.
"DAMN YOU, ORION!" Tusha shrieked, its arrogance shattering into pure terror. "DO YOU KNOW THE CONSEQUENCES OF BREAKING A PACT?! EVEN WITH A DEMIGOD AT YOUR BACK, YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE MY CURSE! I WILL HARVEST YOUR SOUL AND MAKE YOU SUFFER FOR ETERNITY!"
Compared to the serpent’s panicked rage, Valthor was silent, as if he had accepted his fate. He offered no resistance. Instead, he poured all his remaining power into holding the great serpent fast.
"Old fool, can you not see the situation?!" Tusha screamed at him. "The waste of flesh wants to kill us both! You idiot! Damnation! Damnation upon you all!"
Valthor did not answer. The blade descended.
It cut through evil. It cut through light. For an instant, time, space, faith, and will—all of it collapsed.
When reality reasserted itself, all that remained was a cloud of pure, untethered faith energy. The Asura Titan opened one of its mighty mouths and inhaled, drawing the power into itself, its form growing visibly, infinitesimally, larger.
The battle was over. Orion dismissed the Titan Form, his own body reappearing in the silent space. He ignored his own condition and reached into his tunic, pulling out the Sigil of Substitution.
Crack.
A fissure appeared at its center. It spread rapidly across the artifact’s surface. In five seconds, under the corrosive backlash of the broken contract, the Legendary sigil crumbled into fine, gray ash.
"Such a fine artifact," Orion lamented softly, watching the dust drift away. "It wasn’t even warm in my pocket. What a pity."